


Seven Years Later...

by MercuryHomophony



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Daddy Issues, Gen, biblically illiterate, post-armageddid't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24400162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryHomophony/pseuds/MercuryHomophony
Summary: Seven years later, Hell in all its terrible bureaucracy, has finally sanctioned the delivery of the dreaded Pink Slip to its former Earth Agent. Meanwhile, Heaven has chosen to pretend that nothing happened seven years ago, and that everything is proceeding as expected, just with a new Guardian of Earth. With retirement almost within their grasp, Crowley and Aziraphale have only two roadblocks left - their replacements, and their inability to communicate clearly with each other.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) & Original Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. The Pink Slip of the Damned

**Author's Note:**

> Finally dipping my toe into the Good Omens ocean of writers! This is entirely self-indulgent, with my summary notes for this reading: Post-apocawhoops where their irreverent OC replacements come by regularly to talk to/harass them with a healthy side of Idiots In Love and Found Family. If you like that, then you'll probably like this. Now, as I told my friend, time to write 30k about an angel who wants to see how many times they can get arrested and a nephilim with daddy issues.
> 
> Also, I swore I wouldn't do footnotes if I wrote a Good Omens fic because I didn't want to learn how to program them, but here we are.

In the history of Aziraphale & Co. Booksellers, there has only ever been one demonic presence to darken its door. In the last eighteen years, that presence had become more and more prevalent, until the eponymous Aziraphale had come to expect it almost daily. Today, especially, he had expected this particular demonic entity to turn up around midday, to take him to their lunch plans. With this in mind, it’s understandable that the angel in residence made some assumptions when he felt that hellish energy cross his threshold.

“You’re early, my dear,” he called from the back room. He set down his book with a reluctant sigh - he’d been quite invested in his reread of Peony Pavilion, complete with annotations(1), and was somewhat put-out that Crowley had seen fit to make a show so early… but, they did have lunch plans, and his book would keep until Crowley decided to take his afternoon nap. “I’m afraid I’m not quite ready.

(1) A Chinese opera, one that he didn’t yet have the pleasure of owning in the original language or dialect. Still, the translator for the English copy he’d discovered had taken great pains to explain linguistic turns from the original Chinese, and he did so adore a good story of destiny, defying odds, and true love(2).

(2) No, he did not read any parallels from the opera to his own life. Why would you make that assumption?

He expected the usual wry commentary from the front, the rough but well-meant ribbing to which he was accustomed. The lilting voice from the front was unexpected.

“I didn’t figure you’d be waiting for me. I might have stopped by sooner if’n I had.”

He hurriedly tidied his desk with a miracle (leaving the book untouched, of course), and made his way to the front of the shop, his good mood rapidly slipping. It plummeted when he saw his guest. She looked to be an exceptionally tall woman, in her mid-to-late twenties, perhaps, wearing an overly long faded black hoodie and skinny black slacks. Her back was to him as he walked into the room, one hand lifted, tracing a single claw-length nail gently down the wood of one of his bookshelves. She bore the faint but prevalent scent of sulfur. As he entered the shop, she spun on one heel to face him, hands moving to her hoodie pockets, lips pulled back into a wry, sparkling smirk. When she set her eyes on him, her expression froze.

“Er.”

“I’m afraid I made a slight mistake,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I was expecting someone else.”

“Uh, yeah,” she replied. Her eyes, surprisingly human for a demon, gave him a once-over. “Me too.” She tilted her head a little, considering him. “You wouldn’t happen to be the angel, uh…” she snapped her fingers a few times, thinking. Aziraphale forced down a twitch in his eyes at each snap, feeling no miracle behind them. “Aziraphale!”

“Former Guardian of the Eastern Gate, current angel-in-residence on Earth, yes,” he said. He returned her quick scrutiny - he hadn’t met many demons in his line of work, since Crowley was very particular to keep him abreast of his coworkers’ movements. Compared to the few he had seen, however, she was remarkably plain - dark wavy hair, pale freckled skin, and a thin, stretched look to her face and form. He couldn’t discern a demonic mark aside from the faint stench of sulfur and the dark energy radiating off of her would have “You may remember me for wielding a flaming sword.”

Her grin was back. “Nah, that was before my time. Or, the first time you had it was, anyway. Heard you got it back for Armageddidn’t.” She pulled one hand from her hoodie pocket and extended it in his direction. He noted, with mild curiosity, that she had six fingers on each hand, and her thumbs seemed reversed. “I was hoping to run into you at some point. Name’s Leah Tanith.”

Aziraphale cautiously took her hand, giving it one firm shake. Unlike Crowley’s perpetually cooler skin, her hand was warm against his. The thumb placement did make for an awkward handshake, though. “That’s an interesting name for a demon. Did you choose it yourself?”

“The second name, yeah. The first one was given to me.” She pulled her hand back, sticking it into her pocket. “So, I’m guessing Lord Crowley isn’t in, then.”

“ _Lord-_ ” Aziraphale repeated to himself, then cleared his throat. “No, he’s not here. What do you want him for?” he paused. “And why would you look _here_?”

Leah shrugged, looking around the shop again. Aziraphale had to hand it to her - the few demons he had met had been suitably cowed by his divine presence, even when he hadn’t tried to be threatening. Ofttimes, just knowing that he _could_ smite them was enough to scare off the undiscerning demon. Leah didn’t seem all that concerned. “Hell sent me,” she said, stepping away to look at one of the book shelves, head turning to take in the titles. “And after all that fuss with Almost-geddon, you two were all the gossip downstairs. Everyone had something to say about the demon that convinced an _angel_ to go up against the Heavenly Host and the Ineffable Plan, and there was plenty of speculation on you, too.” She pulled a book from the shelf, carefully flipping through a couple of pages. Aziraphale watched her treatment of his book like a hawk, but she was appropriately gentle with the tome. She snorted after a moment, closing it and putting it back. “Heck, Eric said that you smote him once, back in the 9th century, BC.”

“Eric?”

“’S what we call the bits of Legion. Little guy, poofy black hair. Sort of looks like a bunny.” She grinned sharply at Aziraphale, showing a row of shark-like teeth. “Jumps like one, too.”

Ah. Aziraphale _did_ recall seeing a demon matching that description, back around when the Qin Dynasty was founded in current-day China. He didn’t recall smiting him, but he might have implied that he’d take action, should anything untoward happen to the archive of newly standardized scrolls he’d been collecting. Poor thing must have taken it to heart. Still, it did give him a chance to bluff. “That does ring a bell. Perhaps it would be best for you to move on, then, and avoid meeting a similar fate.”

She looked surprised at that. “Oh. You’d actually smite me?”

“Depends on what you need Crowley for,” he replied firmly. “I’m sure your gossip mentioned I’m quite fond of him - I’d be rather cross if someone were planning something untoward for him.”

“Oh.” She rolled her eyes. “No, no, Hell just sent me up with this.” She snapped her fingers, and a pink slip of paper appeared between them. She offered it to him. “You can take a look at it if you’d like.”

Delicately, he took the paper, which reeked of mildew and was slightly soggy against his fingers. Squinting down at the somewhat washed out letters, he managed to make out the wording.

“Is… is this an _actual_ pink slip?” he asked, looking back up at Leah. “They’re _firing_ Crowley?”

“Yeah.” She reached out, and he passed the slip back to her. It returned to the aether with a flick of her hand. “I mean, he mis-delivered the Anti-Christ, went up against the workings of Hell, and spent 6000 years on Earth fraternizing with the enemy,” she said with a shrug. “From what I hear of it, Duke Hastur wanted something a _lot_ worse for him, but after you two weren’t struck by lightning by She Herself up there, the Dark Council figured you were ‘off-limits,’ for the time being. Prince Beelzebub decided he’d be officially sacked for incompetence, replaced by a new earthly agent, and we’d all do our best to forget that he ever existed.” She thought for a second, then added, “Well, for the most part. Considering I’m taking over his post, I’ll probably have to talk to him to get caught up on everything here.” She grinned, suddenly, as a thought occurred to her. “Actually, now that I think about it, that would make me your new counterpart. So I suppose it’s for the best I got to introduce myself.”

“He’s not being recalled to Hell, is he?”

“Nah. They want nothing to do with him. Frankly, I think there’d be a riot if he ever did. The Princes told me to let him know he wasn’t welcome back, if I saw him.” She shrugged. “There’d probably be a riot. No one really _likes_ anyone down there, but Crowley has sort of a… a cult following, if you will. Toss that against the ones who think he’s a right asshole and would rather see him back in the sulfur pits than spit on him, and you’d have some problems.”

Aziraphale took this all in with a growing sense of relief, and the beginnings of faint amusement. Leah, despite her somewhat intimidating stature, acted with a relaxed ease that made it hard to disbelieve her words. If it was some sort of ploy from hell, he would have expected something more dramatic(3). This felt more like the same old bureaucracy to which Heaven and Hell alike had become so accustomed. If that were the case, then this was good news indeed. Without having to worry about reporting back to Hell, Crowley would actually be _free_. He couldn’t remember a time his friend hadn’t been nervously looking over his shoulder. Perhaps he would even _relax_.

(3) He hadn’t forgotten Crowley’s hand in keeping him on Earth when Gabriel had wanted to recall him. The demon had told him the story later that night, deep into their third bottle of wine. Aziraphale had laughed until he cried at the ridiculousness and over-the-top-ness of the whole thing, and only a miracle had saved him from simply asphyxiating with laughter when Crowley told him “Sssad thing isss, An-Angel - ‘s a hell of a lot less dramatic than anyone else from downsssstairssss would’ve actually done.” 

“He tends to have a rather polarizing effect on humans as well. It’s not always served him well in the past.”

Her eyes lit up(4). “You don’t say.” She looked around the shop again, then back to Aziraphale. “Well, if you’re expecting Crowley to come around soonish, there’s really no point in me prowling around London looking for him, right? Causing trouble.”

(4) Though not literally, which was another oddity - Crowley’s eyes had the occasional tendency to glow like coals when something caught his interest. Aziraphale assumed it was a common demonic trait, but apparently an n of 1 made for bad science. That said, Aziraphale was a reader of literature, and much preferred to leave science to the humans.

“I suppose not,” he replied dryly. “Funny, you taking over for Crowley.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re very much like him,” he said. “Approaching an angel without fear, trying to convince me to do something by wording it as a thwart. If you’d like to wait for him here and you mean him no harm, then you’re welcome to do so.”

A sudden, high flush colored her cheeks, and she stuttered, flustered. “Er, really? You think so?”

“My dear, I wouldn’t have offered if-”

“No, no, that I’m-” She paused, cleared her throat, and got her expression back under control. “Never mind. Anyways, while I’m here, care to share any good thwarting stories?” Her shark-toothed grin came back. “I’d love to know what I’m going to be up against.”

Aziraphale recognized the excuse for what it was, and he could recognize someone who appreciated a good story from a mile away. He smiled back. “Indeed. Why don’t we head to the back room to wait?” He gestured her through the doorway, following after. “Have you had a chance to try biscuits yet? I think I still have a tin in the kitchen…”

Leah had not, in fact, tried biscuits yet, and found them to be quite delightful, based on how she demolished the tin as Aziraphale rambled his way through some stories of thwarting Crowley. He was careful to stick to the ones he knew Crowley had officially reported - just because Leah seemed to be less vicious than other demons, and Hell was willing to release its grip on Crowley, didn’t mean that he wanted to spread around the details of their Arrangement.

He was in the middle of recalling their stint as Sir Aziraphale and the Black Knight when his phone rang. Insistently. He smiled apologetically. “Excuse me, my dear, I suspect that’s the topic of our discussion.”

Leah waved him off, her mouth full of biscuit. “’n go gi’ it, dun’ mind me,” she said, spraying a fair number of crumbs. Aziraphale spared a quick miracle to tidy them from the carpet as he turned away to retrieve the phone.

“Hello, I’m terribly sorry, but we are quite closed at the-”

“’Ziraph’l,” a grumpy, slurred voice growled at the other end. “It’s me, don-don’t give me that, you know ‘s- ‘s me.”

“Crowley?” He cupped the receiver in his hand, starting to pace in concern. “My dear boy, you sound terrible!”

“I need y’r help.”

“Of course, what can I do?”

“I need you to bail me out of jail.”

Aziraphale stopped pacing. “You _what?_ ” he asked, baffled. Crowley groaned.

“I need you to bail me out. I’d do it myself, but-”

“Crowley, did you-” He caught Leah, poking her head out of the back room with interest, and lowered his voice. “Did you forget to sober up again?”

“I didn’t!” Crowley protested before he’d even finished asking. “Look, I would have done that, and would have gotten out of here myself, but-”

“But what, Crowley?”

“But this- this _blasted_ angel won’t let me!” Crowley hissed in a low voice. “I’m _trapped_ , he keeps negating all my miracles.”

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped. The idea of Crowley, stuck under the power of an angel who very well might smite him simply for being a demon, didn’t bear consideration. “Which station?”

“The one on… er…” There was a dull thud, then Crowley’s muffled voice as he spoke with someone on the other end of the line. “Soho. The one by the, er…”

“The falafel place?”

“Yeah, yeah, that one.” There was another muffled conversation, then Crowley was back on, voice strained. “Put a ‘wiggle on,’ if you could - I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“I’ll be there in a jiff,” he promised, quickly hanging up the phone. When he turned around, Leah didn’t even try to pretend she hadn’t been eavesdropping. She looked up at him with interest.

“My dear,” he started, clasping his hands together. “I’m sorry to cut my story short, but it looks like we’ll be meeting Crowley elsewhere.”


	2. And 'Lo, the Angel Spake, "Be Not Afraid, For I Am Your New CoWorker, Barratiel."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just under one day before...

Crowley had been looking forward to a good day. He had it all planned out - he would sleep in ‘till 11:30, slither out of bed, boil himself alive with a shower and coffee, miracle himself presentable, and get over to the bookshop before noon. There, he’d pick up his angel for lunch, at a location picked by Aziraphale, depending on what he was feeling peckish for, and after lunch they’d return to the bookshop so he could take a nap. Aziraphale would putter around his shop, doing whatever he felt like doing, and would wake him in time for Crowley to drive them to dinner. Then, they’d head back to the bookshop to talk and drink and bicker about whether or not Heaven and Hell were finally going to make a move, and Crowley would work himself into a nervous snit, and Aziraphale would be blessedly optimistic, and when they’d sorted that out, he’d head home for more sleep.

It was a good plan, for a good day, and Crowley was looking forward to it despite all the sleeping. Or, perhaps, because of the sleeping. He didn’t sleep that much normally, but as a man-shaped entity who was occasionally a snake-shaped entity, there were certain necessary cycles to take note of.

This one in particular… well, he’d have to bring it up with his angel at some point. Couldn’t go vanishing for a few weeks without saying anything. That would be a little suspicious, after seven years of seeing him daily.

Still. It was a good plan, for a good day, and he was ready to enjoy it. He just needed a good night’s sleep first.

Unfortunately, that bit was currently being ruined by a steady, loud knocking at his door.

He rolled over, wrapping himself tighter in his sheets, and imagined _whoever it was_ remembering that they had something terribly important to do elsewhere. There was a slight pause in the knocks. Satisfied, he settled down again, smirking in satisfaction.

The knocks started again.

He rolled out of bed with a thump and a growl before getting up, still rolled up in his sheets. He was _comfy,_ Someone-dammit, and he wasn’t about to leave that behind for some arsehole at his door. Besides, while a human might have had trouble moving through the apartment as tightly bundled up as he was, he was the serpent of Eden. He had plenty of practice moving around his apartment at a slither. It just looked weirder with leg-bones.

Crowley had not survived as the demonic agent of earth without picking up a few necessary habits along the way. Blending in helped, as did knowing when to get out of a situation before it broke bad. But the habit that had best served him was a healthy dose of paranoia, with a few booster shots of anxiety here and there to keep it fresh. That paranoia served Crowley well now, too - as his mind cleared of sleep, it was easy for him to sense the angelic presence at his door. Only someone as attuned to watching his own back, however, would have realized it wasn’t his usual angelic presence. He noticed it as he entered the front hall, and slowed, his scaly feet silent on the ground as he listened. There was another knock at the door.

“Maybe if I’m quiet enough, they’ll bugger off,” he thought to himself, taking a careful step back. Unfortunately, his blanket proved to be his downfall - his heel caught the corner of it. Crowley had a split second to silently curse his luck before he fell with a loud, echoing thump.

He froze, as did the knocks at the door. A long minute went by. He was just daring to think of hoping his prospective guest hadn’t heard him, when there came a sigh from outside the door.

“Mr. Crowley, we both know you’re in there now.” The voice was amiable, if bland. For Crowley’s money, it could have been any rank-and-file angel. “Be Not Afraid; I am only here to speak with you.”

Crowley wriggled against the blanket, now tangled hopelessly around him, his mind flying faster than the Bentley as he tried to figure out what to do. He could only think of a handful of reasons any angel aside from Aziraphale would want to speak with him, and none of them were _good_. If he was lucky, it was a polite call to smite him back to Hell. If he was less lucky, then it was a less-than-polite call to the same end.

The voice at the door sighed again when he didn’t answer. “Mr. Crowley, I knock because I understand that you have been stationed on Earth a long while, and that it is human custom to knock and wait to be invited in. However, should it be necessary, I have no qualms with taking a more _direct_ route into your abode, should you refuse to answer.” The voice paused, leaving Crowley more room to frantically think of worse and worse scenarios for an angel being here. When it returned, he was surprised to hear the slightest note of concern in it. “You- you didn’t _hurt_ yourself in that crash, did you? Perhaps I should let myself in, regardless…”

“Nope! Not necessary!” Crowley didn’t-yelp, finally freeing his hand from his wrappings. Two snaps and two quick miracles later, he was blanket-free, dressed, and presentably cool again. Bracing for a smiting, he swung open the door, leaning casually against the frame.

The angel-in-question had his (his? They looked like a his, despite the shaggier locks and classic angelic robe) hand lifted in a loose fist, no doubt to knock again, and gave him a faint look of surprise. From his expression, and the set of his face, Crowley surmised that most of the angel’s expressions must look faint - as if the emotion barely reached him. “Ah, there you are,” he said, lowering his hand and folding them within the sleeves of his robe. “May I come in?”

Crowley entertained the idea of saying no - there’d been no blow of divine energy yet, after all - but caught sight of a door cracking open down the hall. The last thing he needed was Mrs. Blaithwyte sticking her nose into his business again, especially this _particular_ business. It would be a shame if his favorite local gossip got caught up on Heaven’s radar. “Yes, alright, may as well,” he grumbled, stepping aside with a dramatic flourish.

“Thank you,” the angel said, stepping inside.

Crowley grunted, shutting the door and stepping further into his flat. “So what’s this about, then?” He was careful to keep his face turned towards the angel, even as he moved away. He might not be able to take one of the Holy Host in a fight, but he was slippery. If he stayed alert, one wrong move on the Angel’s part and Crowley would be out of there before you could say “Hail Satan.”

“Yes, let us get down to business.” The angel seemed content to match his pace as they moved through the apartment, though he did pause for a moment as they passed Crowley’s statue of “Good Wrestling Evil,” looking over it with placid interest. Crowley observed him unblinkingly. The angel kept his folded, as if in prayer, just visible in his sleeves. He looked wholly like some American small white town depiction of an angel - sun-tanned skin, tastefully shaggy blonde locks, and lovely blue eyes set in a well-chiseled face. Having noted whatever he wanted to note from Crowley’s decor, he turned his attention back to the demon. “My name is Barratiel, Principality - formerly of Heavenly Admissions, now the designated Guardian and Heavenly Presence on Earth.”

Crowley’s thoughts screeched to a halt. That… that was _Aziraphale_ _’s_ title. “You wot.”

The angel nodded, almost somber. “I had imagined this might come as a shock to you, having only had to deal with one Heavenly Adversary during your impressive stint on Earth. However, after certain recent events (upon which I will not speculate), the management decided it would be wise to shake things up a little bit. Move things around, as it were.”

“Aziraphale’s not going back to Heaven,” Crowley blurted without thinking, still caught up on the _weirdly audible_ parentheses the angel (Brattiel? Battariel? Batty.) had used. His mind had recovered from it’s sudden stop, and was racing faster than ever now. If Batty was here now, was Gabriel at the bookshop, trying to convince Aziraphale to come back to Heaven? He knew the angel wouldn't’ go, not willingly, not after everything they’d done, but what if they forced him? He ought to be there, trying to scheme him out of it, but pretending to be adversaries last time only worked because their bosses hadn’t worked out the truth yet, so he couldn’t pull that trick again, and he could hardly _fight_ Gabriel and whatever other angels he’d brought with him and Batty here wasn’t liable to let him go anytime soon and-

“Oh, no,” Batty replied, holding his hands up placatingly. “He’s in somewhat of a… unique position at the moment, managerially speaking. I am not at liberty to say much. However, as I understand it, the current consensus from the higher-ups is to take a hands-off approach.” He inclined his head. “That said, with you still representing Hell on Earth, there needs to be a matching representative from Heaven to thwart whatever wicked plans you might be advancing. This is why I am here - I was selected for that position.”

Crowley blinked once, slowly. It took him conscious effort to do so, but he found that blinking had an odd effect on people and people-shaped entities who regularly had eyelids. It gave them a sense that you were processing whatever they had to say, and often bought you enough time to find an appropriate comeback, or an escape route. In this instance, he went so far as to blink twice, just to give him more time to wrap his head around it.

From the sound of it, Batty’s claim meant that Aziraphale was… free. Not free-free, no one was ever entirely free from Heaven’s glare without the million-light-year sulfur dive, but this… an agreement of hands-off, might be as close to free from Heaven as Aziraphale could feasibly manage. And if this _other_ angel was here to support that plan, then Crowley suddenly had a vested interest in seeing this work out.

There was just one small detail he hadn’t been given yet. “Alright, so, if you’re here to take over Aziraphale’s post,” he started, shifting uncomfortably, “what exactly are you doing _here_?”

“I thought it might be polite,” Batty offered mildly. Crowley stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Polite.”

“Indeed. You have been accustomed to dealing with one angel over a 6,000 year career. I thought that properly introducing myself would allow us to work more efficiently in dealing temptations and miracles.”

Crowley blinked again. “You wot. Hold on,” he said, raising a hand before the angel could start to answer his question. “That makes it sound like you expect us to… I dunno, work _together,_ or something.”

The angel inclined his head slightly. “As I said, Heaven is trying to shake up our operations to better draw souls to paradise. My former position in Heavenly Admissions gives me a unique insight into which humans are considered worthy of eternity. As I have found that most of the cases I have processed have been humans who have surpassed temptations, I will have the best luck working closely with humans who are in need of support during temptations. Additionally, your actions with the previous Earth Representative show that you are amenable to collaboration. Therefore, in my new position, it seemed wise to properly introduce myself and get to know my adversary here.” He paused, and a look of slight embarrassment colored his face. “Although… if I am to be truthful, you must know that’s not my only reason for being here.”

“Alright,” Crowley said slowly, processing that bombshell of information Batty had dropped. The idea that this angel, alone, had come around to the idea that working _with_ him rather than smiting him on sight, was a better outcome than he had hoped. Sure, it would cut into his time with Aziraphale, but it would afford his angel more time to enjoy Earth. On the other hand… it left a sort of… discomfort in his gut. He’d spent hundreds of years trying to convince Aziraphale to agree to the Arrangement. This angel waltzing in on day one, effectively proposing the same thing, felt oddly like betraying that. But if it meant that he wasn’t about to get smote, and Aziraphale was left alone… “What’s your other reason, then?”

Batty looked almost properly abashed. “I… have heard a great deal from humans coming through admissions, of the varieties of temptations in the world. However, I have never actually visited Earth, and have no experience with which to aid humanity. I had hoped, as a… measure of goodwill, for our future dealings, that you might introduce me to some of these temptations.”

Crowley was about to need a chiropractor, with all the whiplash this conversation was giving him. “Er… I suppose?” he asked more than said. Oh Satan, what kind of temptation…? “What, er… did you have something in mind, or…?”

The faint hesitation evaporated from Batty’s face, replaced by modest excitement. “Well, I have heard frequently from souls that their troubles began at a ‘bar.’ Would you be willing to introduce me to such an establishment?”

Crowley let out an internal sigh of relief, a cocky smirk coming to his face. This was a turn he could work with - an angel who’d only ever worked in Heaven was probably new to corporations. He could have his cake and eat it - go out, get this new angel skunk-drunk, and still get back in time for a decent night’s sleep.

“Well,” he said, stepping past the angel towards the door, “this is your lucky day. I think that can be arranged.”


	3. Work Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale rescues Crowley, the new representatives of Heaven and Hell meet, and it's overall rather underwhelming. Surely things can only go up from here!

“Crowley, how on _Earth_ did that end up with you being put in jail?” Aziraphale asked after Crowley’s explanation. Behind the bars, Crowley winced. Aziraphale sighed, reaching a hand through the bars to tap at his friend’s temple, and the demon sighed in relief as the hangover faded.

“Thanksss, angel,” he said in relief. “And I swear, it wasn’t my fault. I just planned to get him drunk enough that he’d bugger off and leave me alone for the night. But…” he gestured behind him. Barratiel(1) was sitting in the overnight cell with some other temporary inmates, talking with several of them at once. He listened with an expression of polite interest. It seemed to Aziraphale that he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of his corporation yet, based on how distant his expressions were, but the other inmates seemed to appreciate his sympathetic ear and whatever advice he was gently doling out to them.

“But?” he asked.

Crowley groaned. “But then he got caught up in _talking_ to people, and when one of them got arrested for public drunkenness, he _insisted_ we go with him for support. I tried to make my exit, and he just started negating my miracles! The officers took notice, and arrested me on charges of being a ‘shifty figure,’” he snarled in disdain.

“Any other day, and you’d have taken that as a compliment,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley leaned against the bars, lips curled in a sneer. “Aziraphale, I’ve _never_ been arrested! I had to distract him with another poor sap just to get my _phone call_.” He paused, adding under his breath “Hell knows how I’m going to put up with him as an _adversary_ …”

“You poor dear,” Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers. The cell door next to Crowley swung open, and Crowley hurriedly slunk out. In the cell, Barratiel looked up in surprise. “Well, the good news is you won’t actually _have_ to put up with him.”

Crowley frowned. This close, Aziraphale could see his slit eyes focused on him, even behind his dark glasses. “You can’t mean you’re taking the post back. Look, I know what I said, but you know me; I complain about everything. Don’t-”

“Crowley, that’s not what I meant at all,” Aziraphale said, rolling his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. “Actually, while you were dealing with your guest, I had one of my own.”

The crease of Crowley’s frown deepened. “You…” He trailed off, finally taking note of the demonic presence off behind Aziraphale. He took a half step forward, putting himself between them. “Who-?”

Aziraphale quickly stepped up next to him, a gentle miracle keeping the humans around them from noticing the three entities just standing outside the overnight cell. “Crowley, this is Leah Tannith. Leah, I believe you already know of Crowley.”

Leah, who had been so keen earlier to meet Crowley, now just stared wide-eyed at him as she reached a hand out to shake. “Yeah, uh… your reputation proceeds you,” she said, sounding faint.

Crowley scowled up at her, taking the handshake like it might burn him. “Leah… _Tannith_ , you said?”

Leah nodded mutely. Aziraphale, sensing a stall in the conversation, quickly picked up the slack. “Back to the topic of adversaries, my dear fellow; you will not have to “put up” with Barratiel. Leah, I believe you had something to deliver…?” He trailed off purposefully, giving her a meaningful look.

“Uh? Oh! Right, right,” she said, shaking off whatever stupor seeing Crowley had laid her under. Crowley shot Aziraphale a wary look. Aziraphale simply returned it with a smile and a small nod. When Crowley turned back to glaring at the other demon, it was with a little less animosity and a little more curiosity.

Leah snapped her fingers, a flash of fire resolving into a pinkslip between them. Crowley took another half-step between her and Aziraphale. (Aziraphale let him - he wasn’t keen on hellfire, to be sure, but so far Leah had been relatively polite and downright personable, for a demon. At this point, he doubted she’d take any hostile action against them. But, if it made Crowley feel better to be a first line of defense, Aziraphale wouldn’t take that from him.) “So, Dagon ordered me to hand this to you, with a message,” she announced, taking a deep breath. In a deeper, resonating voice; “Lord Crowley,” (”Lord?” Crowley mouthed, eyebrows coming together) “The First Tempter, Serpent of Eden, Twice-Blight and Heresy Dealer, He of the Split-Tongue and Whisperer of Forbidden Knowledge to Damned Ears - In light of your most recent disservice and Treason against the Forces of Hell, you have been formally renounced by the Hosts of the Damned, and all that to which they lay claim. You are hereby stripped of your title and rank within the Legions of our most Terrible Lord Satan.

“We Inflict upon you this Dread Pink Slip, crafted over the course of 666 days, binding you unto this decree. Should you ever be seen within the circles of Hell again, know that your flesh will be stripped from your corporation, be fried in the fats of your liver, and fed to you with a side of your own unclean offal. And that will be an appetizer.” She paused. “I’m not sure this next part was one of the official bits,” she added in her regular voice, “but Dagon specifically added ‘Good riddance; sod off, you miserable git, and if I ever see your scaly arse again, I will make what Beelzebub has planned for you look like a picnic in the 7th circle.’” 

Aziraphale’s smile had faded as the missive had gone on, and by the end of it he had settled into a firm pout.

“That’s rather much, isn’t it?” a voice behind him asked, echoing his thoughts. He looked over his shoulder to see Barratiel, now outside the cell, looking thoughtful.

“That’s Hell for you,” Crowley replied, sounding less alarmed than Aziraphale had expected. He looked over at his friend, and was surprised to see that he looked thoughtful, not anxious. “So, the pink slip?”

“Yep,” Leah said, popping the ‘p’ solidly. She extended it to him, and he carefully took it. He had all of one chance to read it, before it went up in a burst of flames. He recoiled with a hiss, waving his singed fingers. Aziraphale stepped closer, reaching for the injury, but Crowley held him off with his other hand.

“No, no, it’s just a Hellish contract,” he grit between his teeth. “Hurts like a bitch, it’ll pass in a moment.”

Aziraphale leveled a firm look at Leah. “Did you know it would do this?” She shrugged.

“Yes? That’s what contracts do?” she said, as if it were obvious. “Could have been worse, they could have brought a branding team up; I know for a fact that Duke Hastur was pushing for that option.”

Crowley grimaced, flexing his fingers. They were slightly blackened, and Aziraphale could see blistered cracks in the flesh, forming sigils of some sort up the length of them. “I bet he was,” the demon chuckled humorlessly. He shook out his hand again, blowing over his fingers, and with a small demonic miracle the sigils, soot and blisters vanished. He grinned over at Aziraphale, waving them. “See? So that’s it, then!” he declared, almost cheerfully. “Hell and Heaven have washed their hands of us, there are two new reps on Earth to take our jobs, and every thing’s sorted. Except,” he amended, glancing at the clock on the station’s wall, “that I believe I’m late for our lunch, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale tutted. “Nonsense. I believe they still have our reservation ready for us. We just need to make our way there.”

Crowley nodded, then winced. “I’ll have to pick up the Bentley from the flat first.”

“I’m sure our reservation will keep if we walk, my dear boy,” Aziraphale responded, taking his arm and leading him out of the station. Humans parted around them as they moved through, Leah and Barratiel trailing along behind them, protected from attention by the same miracle.

“Uh, hey,” Leah cut in after a moment. “I don’t want to butt in or anything-”

“Then don’t,” Crowley said.

“-but I was sort of hoping I could talk with Crowley some more about the job. Mind if I tag along?”

Crowley wrinkled his nose, but glanced over to Aziraphale, who paused to smile back at Leah. “You know, we could certainly fit another person at our table… or two,” he added, recalling Barratiel’s presence, “if you’d like to join us as well.”

Crowley _did_ look ready to protest that, but settled on a glare and a grimace when Aziraphale squeezed his arm. Behind them, Barratiel paused.

“I’m not actually supposed to talk to the former Heavenly representative on Earth,” he said, carefully not looking at Aziraphale. “But, I would like the opportunity to understand my adversary, since it looks like my research on Mr. Crowley will be unneeded.”

“You can’t come to lunch if you’re just going to ignore him the whole time!” Crowley groused. Aziraphale could admit he felt a little put out as well.

“I don’t suppose you’d be able to say why they told you that,” he remarked dryly. Barratiel cocked his head thoughtfully, but did not respond. Aziraphale sighed. “Well, hopefully you and Leah can find something to talk about. And if you keep Crowley occupied enough that he doesn’t steal my cake, all the better.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

-

Lunch was a remarkably peaceable affair, after they’d settled in. Aziraphale ordered meals for himself and Crowley, and recommended a few dishes to Leah (and, indirectly, to Barratiel, who surprised him by taking his recommendation. Apparently his orders not to talk to him hadn’t extended to not _listening_ ). Crowley had firmly planted himself in between Aziraphale and Leah, and although he appeared relaxed on the surface, slouched in his chair, Aziraphale noted the insistent bounce of his leg. He also kept shooting Barratiel suspicious glares across the table from behind his glasses, but aside from that, he behaved himself.

The conversation left a little to be desired - Crowley didn’t seem keen to talk much with Leah, despite her persistent questions about his post on Earth and the assignments he’d done. He gave her short, curt answers, and often took large bites just as she asked questions, feigning dismay at being unable to answer quickly as he chewed whatever he was eating at the moment(2). Barratiel, on the other hand, proved to be an excellent listener, though Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how much he actually took in, and how much he simply politely absorbed from the conversation around him. He did contribute a few insightful remarks here or there, enough to capture Leah’s attention for awhile anyways, and while he never spoke directly to Aziraphale, he still seemed to take whatever he said into account.

Then, when Leah realized that work conversations weren’t going to get her anywhere with Crowley, she switched tactics, and started asking about their experiences on Earth. She even surprised the two of them when she revealed that she had actually spent some time on Earth, right around the time of Babel.

“Language was kind of a shit move, yeah?” she asked, peeling a grape from her plate with one sharp nail. “Humans were already pretty chaotic, then boom! Suddenly you’ve got families speaking all sorts of weird things, no one knows what’s happening, and you’re getting kicked out of the village because your hands are backwards, and at least that’s a _physical_ thing they can focus on.”

“It was regrettable,” Aziraphale said, dabbing his napkin to his lip. Next to him, Crowley sneered as he pushed his food around his plate.

“It was _unnecessary_ ,” he griped. “Humans have a hard enough time getting along, even when they do speak the same language.”

“But, overcoming that difficulty and learning a language can also bring cultures together.

Crowley gave him a look, peering over his sunglasses. “Oh? And how well has that worked for you, angel?” His tongue flickered past his lips, which turned into a slow smirk. “À quand remonte la dernière fois que vous avez pratiqué votre français? Je me trompe peut-être, mais je me souviens moins d'une fusion des cultures à la Bastille et plus d'une séparation des…”(3)

“Yes, alright,” Aziraphale cut him off, a little cross. “You’ve made your point.”

Barratiel and Leah watched with varying degrees of interest - Barratiel mild, Leah fascinated. “You didn’t use a miracle for that,” Leah said. “Do you speak a bunch of languages?”

“Main kuchh bolata hoon,”(4) Crowley replied in easy turn, before throwing in something in an older tongue Aziraphale could remember hearing, but couldn’t remember well enough to translate. Crowley grinned at the puzzled looks from around the table. “Just because I don’t _like_ how languages came about, doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate what the humans have done with it since.”

“Huh. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a linguist,” Leah said, stabbing at her plate thoughtfully.

“It’s the tongue,” Crowley said, flicking it out in demonstration. “I can wrap my way around any syllabic structure.”

By the end of lunch, a few hours later, Crowley had managed to relax… though, Aziraphale couldn’t truthfully tell whether that was from getting to know his new counterpart better, or because the alcohol. He also, to Aziraphale’s concern, hadn’t eaten as much as he usually did. While he possessed a… less _substantial_ appetite, compared to Aziraphale, he still knew Crowley to be a connoisseur of the gastronomical arts. This afternoon, they’d had a special that Aziraphale just knew would tickle Crowley’s peculiar tastes, and yet…

He’d eaten most of it, sure, but not with the level of silent enthusiasm Aziraphale had come to appreciate. Oh, perhaps he was reading into it too much. Crowley had plenty of reason to be distracted today, and if it put him off his meal, well, then Aziraphale would simply have to treat him again to make up for it. He _had_ been the one to invite Leah and Barratiel, after all.

And what a curious duo _they_ were! Aziraphale hadn’t been upstairs in quite some time. There hadn’t been reason to, after they’d changed his reviews to Earth-side check-ins and simple memos… not to mention, Armageddon and the following radio silence. But, he thought he had a fairly good idea of what angels Heaven-side were like, especially after his brief discorporation thanks to Mr. Shadwell’s accusations and the few moments he’d spent alongside some rather bloodthirsty celestials. Barratiel, on the other hand, looked and acted more like one of the “divine guides” Mrs. Tracy’s medium friends sometimes went on about. He was placid, nearly to a fault, and seemed more interested in listening than anything else. Although… Aziraphale would have been hard pressed to think of a time Barratiel looked fully _interested_ in their conversation.

And then, on Hell’s side, was Leah Tannith. She was going to be a real thorn in Barratiel’s side, if he wasn’t mistaken. Unlike the handful of other demons he’d run into, she was almost charming… in a crass and sometimes unnerving way. Then again, she was new from Hell, and hadn’t had the experience Crowley had in existing on Earth. They reminded him a lot of one another, to be honest. Despite her eagerness to talk about tempting with Crowley, her insights on Aziraphale’s time on Earth spoke to a sort of begrudging admiration of humans.

As they left the Ritz, Crowley finally convinced Leah and Barratiel to leave them alone, and Aziraphale lent his own polite excuses to the cause. As they parted ways, Crowley and Aziraphale heading towards Soho, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder at the two new representatives of Heaven and Hell. They were talking still, making their way in the opposite direction. Barratiel with his inexpressiveness was impossible to read, but Leah, at least, had a wicked grin on her face.

“You know,” he said to Crowley, turning back. “Seeing those two gives me hope.”

Crowley shot him a puzzled look. “What?”

“We’ve been so concerned about Heaven and Hell rallying for a second Armageddon, but… if _those two_ are what they’ve decided to put on Earth, then I think humanity has a better chance than we thought.”

Crowley gave him a long stare, the kind that he saved for when Aziraphale was three bottles of whiskey in and going on about a book Crowley had never heard of. “If you say so, Angel,” he finally muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he swaggered alongside Aziraphale.

After a long pause, he cleared his throat. “I guess Barratiel’s not bad, for your typical angel,” he said.

“And Leah is rather polite, for your typical demon,” Aziraphale returned.

“Sure, sure…” Crowley frowned, thoughtful.

“A penny for your thoughts, my boy?”

Crowley scrunched his nose, brows coming together. “It’s nothing. I just… Leah gives me an odd feeling, is all.” He grimaced. “Not much of a fan of other demons up here. Guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

“Certainly. Especially if we’re going to enjoy our retirement.”

Crowley’s steps faltered at that, looking over at Aziraphale with raised eyebrows. “Our retirement, Angel?”

Aziraphale smiled fondly. “Who else am I going to drag along to try new restaurants with me, my dear boy?” he asked, taking Crowley’s hand and patting it. “Now; I have an excellent bottle of Chateau Lafite from 1949 that I’ve been saving for a bit of a celebration. Seems like our formal unemployment might be an excellent reason, if you’d accompany me back to my bookshop!”

Crowley stared down at his hand, clasped in Aziraphale’s, for a moment. Just when Aziraphale worried that he’d made the demon uncomfortable, he seemed to jump to himself again. “Sssounds great,” he lisped, wincing at the slip-up.

“Excellent.” Aziraphale released his hand, allowing his dear friend to take recollect it along with his thoughts. He smiled as they continued towards Soho. He and Crowley were free of Heaven and Hell; their replacements were odd, but apparently harmless. They had wine, and each other, and a tin of biscuits that Aziraphale planned to ply Crowley with, to make up for his lackluster appetite at lunch. 

Today had been full of unexpected, but not unhappy, surprises. He was looking forward to a pleasant evening to follow.

(1)Aziraphale had finally gotten the new angel’s actual name after several terrible permutations from Crowley, including “Brittany,” “Batty,” “Brattaly” and “Angel B.”

(2) Of course, being a snake, chewing wasn’t necessary for him. Aziraphale gave him the small kindness of not mentioning that, despite Leah’s increasingly disappointed expression.

(3) French, "When was the last time you practiced your French? I may be wrong, but I remember less of a joining of cultures at the Bastille and more of a separation of ..." 

(4) Hindi, "I speak a few."

**Author's Note:**

> (I'll program the footnotes later lmao)


End file.
